


Sunday of the Damned

by suicider00m



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Smut, it's not really dubcon, just tagging to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 17:58:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7724275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicider00m/pseuds/suicider00m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was not what he had planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday of the Damned

Tyler had no idea what he was doing.

It hadn’t been a good day. He’d woken up late and had to rush to make first period. He fell asleep in two of his classes, got sent out of a third, and, because he didn’t even _know_ about it, failed a test in his last one. After school was youth group, yet another unpleasant experience. Pastor Joe wouldn’t stop talking about “the power of true faith” and Tyler spent the entire time trying to keep the guilt from showing on his face; he was too scared to voice his doubts to himself, let alone anyone else. 

The day only got worse. He had to do his daily 500 baskets, which wasn’t normally a problem for him except he hadn’t eaten breakfast and only a peanut butter sandwich for lunch so he was tired and hungry and almost in tears by the end. He actually cried when he found out he missed dinner, though he was in his car and almost halfway to the nearest Taco Bell by the time any tears fell. 

His mother had yelled at him as he grabbed the car keys but he had refused to face her, walking out without paying heed to her threats of punishment. Tyler loved his mother, of course he did; she only wanted what was best for him, she just didn’t always understand his limitations. Sometimes he felt guilty for the resentment that lingered, scratching and clawing at his skin until it burrowed underneath and he could temporarily ignore it. 

Eventually he reached the restaurant, the establishment almost completely deserted except for two underpaid workers, a few exhausted college-age kids, and a homeless man who was asleep in one of the booths. Tyler swore he could feel the eyes of everyone in the room follow him as he walked inside and up to the counter where the cashier stared at him with a hard to read expression. The guy was probably around Tyler’s age, maybe a little older; the thought that he was attractive flashed through Tyler’s mind, as bright as the neon sign outside.

“What can I get you?”

His voice was quiet but steady and Tyler couldn’t help but stare at the guy’s mouth as he stammered out his order, blushing when the lips turned up in a smirk. His hand shook as he handed over the money, slightly faltering at the brush of skin when receiving his change. 

He sat down, leg bouncing and fingers tapping as he did his best to not think about the cute cashier. That all went to hell when the guy actually brought over his meal, sliding into the seat across from him and striking up a conversation while Tyler tried not to choke on his food.

“What’s your name?”

“Tyler.” 

“You look like you could use a distraction,” accompanied by a lewd grin and a wink. Tyler actually choked then, not expecting for the guy to go in that direction. He felt the heat in his face as he looked away, planning on saying no but nodding his head instead. He found himself being pulled to his feet by the guy, led to the bathroom as the rest of his half-eaten meal was devoured by the homeless man. 

The guy was rough but quick enough that Tyler didn’t mind. His inexperience didn’t seem to be a problem, the hands buried in Tyler’s hair holding his head in place as the guy fucked his mouth. Tyler was choking and close to crying but he kept quiet because he didn’t want it to stop. For him, the pain was cathartic. 

He deserved this, he rationalized, closing his eyes and doing his best to ignore the filthy water seeping into the knees of his jeans. He deserved to feel worthless because he _was_. God didn’t care about him, not before and especially not now. He was a liar every Sunday, he may as well be a sinner too.

The guy finished in his mouth and he choked, spitting what he could out onto the grimy tiles of the bathroom floor. Everything was foggy after that: being half-heartedly jerked off before cleaning up, a number slipped into his back pocket with a firm squeeze to his ass. He was standing outside, hand shaking too hard to fit the key into the lock, when the nausea hit. He barely turned away from his car before the vomiting started, his previous meal mixed with cum ejected violently from his body. Exhausted, physically and emotionally, he fell back against his car and slid down until he was sitting on the ground. He didn’t want to cry, desperately tried not to, but as he slowly realized he didn’t want _that_ twenty minutes ago either, he gave in and let the tears fall.


End file.
